


A Kiss Half As Sweet

by bakuracult



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon Divergence, F/M, Is she really a Thalmor spy? Who can say, Manipulation, Mental Coercion, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Tension, Ulfric is the victim here just as a heads up, age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29519040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakuracult/pseuds/bakuracult
Summary: The year is 4E 203, and the Civil War still continues on amidst the Dragon Crisis. Over the last year, Morgause has fulfilled her role, conscientiously attending to Ulfric Stormcloak's inner circle as his sole diplomat. It was not easy earning his trust, from humble street-dwelling fortune teller to whispering in his ear. Now, however, a new possibility is on her horizon. All that matters now is if the Bear of Markarth acts on his desires.
Relationships: Ulfric Stormcloak/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	A Kiss Half As Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Morgause is one of my many Elder Scrolls characters, although unfortunately for Ulfric she is one of the least trustworthy. This is intended to be a fun little smutty oneshot exploring Morgause's relationship with Ulfric but if there's any interest in her story, I'd be happy to write more about it. My timeline for everything is also much longer than those implied in game. 
> 
> Please head all warnings! It's technically consensual sex but it rides the line of dubcon very closely via sexual coercion.

The only sound in Morgause’s personal room was wind outside and the occasional scratch against parchment as she considered her words, chin resting on the back of her hand. It was a simple document, a succinct overview of how outskirt camps were able to gain information on Imperial whereabouts, one the Jarl had personally asked her to write. The last year was a testament to this reliance on her, writing more of these summaries on the Stormcloak rebellion’s most delicate matters. Each time he assigned her such a task was a success. It had taken several years now to climb from mysterious street-dwelling fortune teller to Ulfric Stormcloak’s inner circle, and it was well worth it. Morgause knew there would be constant scrutiny towards her lodged deep within the man and he’d always be willing to question her intentions. It was why he had survived so long—being critical of monsters hiding in plain sight. That was what the Emissary she answered to called her anyway during their last meeting nearly two years prior. She took no mind to the accusation of course, that very Thalmor was hanging on her every word. 

Still, wise enough to know Ulfric’s acceptance of her was situational, therein lay the purpose of her door being just barely eskew. Enough for onlookers to watch her, all golden curls spilling down her back and thin sleeping gown pulling at her subtle curves. Feigning concentration on a task she could have done in her sleep was as easy as the way the single candle at her desk illuminated her just so. 

It was no secret the Jarl of Windhelm had another reason to watch her. 

The meeting had finished late after she had excused herself at least an hour ago, and Ulfric had trudged by looking all the years he probably felt shortly after Morgause set herself up at her humble desk, neat stacks of books and papers around her. He said nothing as he walked by, but she heard the hesitation by the door, felt the weight of his eyes upon her. She didn’t look up, instead pretending to feel the chill of the night air and pulling the woolen blanket tighter around her as to obscure the splash of her pale chest. There was a noise, probably a sigh, and the footsteps continued down the hall to his quarters. 

Whether or not he came tonight, or a night a week from now didn’t matter. They had been playing this game ever since the show of trust when she moved to his part of the castle from the wing closer to the court mage. Most nights she kept her door shut, letting the tension of walking past her dwelling as he did simmer. 

During meetings she was invited to, Galmar Stone-Fist would prattle on about how while she was a welcome diplomat, there was no place for her and her tailored fineries in the war room. More often now the Jarl would defend her presence, stating her observations and suggestions had been helpful in the recent past. Ysarald and Galmar would share a look, but did not argue further, at least not while she was there. It didn’t matter ultimately. While the other two had about as much faith in her as Ulfric had initially when she came onto the council, they would still speak with her in a friendly manner outside of their meetings, gruff as they were. At the end of the day, as long as Jorlief kept telling his dear and trusted friend that he truly believed Morgause had the best intentions for the sons and daughters of Skyrim, and only wanted to see him on the throne where he belonged, she was satisfied.

What’s more, these were all opportunities for Morgause. To pull him aside after the meetings and express her concerns for one thing or the other, topics that would ultimately pull on his heart-strings. He could grumble and complain, and she would take a soft, deep inhale, stretching the fabrics of her bodice. If she brought her talking points up more sternly later on, even if Ulfric didn’t bend to her suggestions entirely, there was always that moment of hesitation that wasn’t present in his previous response. Not common for a man like him with such a short temper.

Those nights, he would have casual conversations with her in the empty throne room, the echoes of his voice carrying past her while she listened intently. When they turned in for the night, Morgause could rest a hand on his shoulder, offering him words of encouragement before turning in. On those occasions, he would also linger outside of her door, much like tonight. Leaving it open enough to get a small view of her working late, that was something new. A taste.

Little experiences like those were necessary. There was a chance Ulfric would never break the barrier and open the door to her room at all, and she accepted it. After all, she had his ear when necessary. Warming each other's beds would be beneficial, though. Ulfric Stormcloak was a loyal, passionate man who was not young and foolish in the slightest. Taking him as a lover was an immeasurable risk both as a leader and as one who guarded his innermost thoughts so harshly. Morgause understood this fundamental piece of him, and so if he decided to close the gap, she would not mind.

It was late now, well past midnight, and the hall had been silent for some time. Rolling the tension from her shoulders, Morgause signed the document she was working on and rested her hawk quill in its holder. Even though she was accustomed to the cold being of Skaal origin, a chill had managed to sink down into her skin. Rising from her chair, she laid her wool blanket over her bed, but instead of immediately tucking in, padded over towards the fireplace to add a log. When she stood upright again, she startled, a creak from behind drawing her attention. It was dark, but the tall, broad figure was unmistakable. 

Ulfric looked tired, even in the low lighting. His figure was somewhat less intimidating with the lack of armor, hesitation adding to it as well. Donned only in a pair of linen trousers and a loose tunic, hair unbraided. It was nothing to feel shy about; they had all been roused in their down dressed night attire by emergency summons before. Not this late at night, usually, and not with such a look in his eyes. 

Morgause stood still, backlit by the fire as it swallowed the log she had just fed it, giving her silhouette away against the white of her sleeping gown. Immediately, she wrapped her arms around herself. A show of false uncertainty. 

“My jarl, it’s quite late now, isn’t it? Has something happened?” She asked softly, tilting her head.

There was a beat of silence between them, like Ulfric was trying to weigh out what he wanted to do. “No, it’s remarkably quiet for once.”

“Oh, that’s good then.” Another empty moment, “then, if I may ask…?”

He took a stride towards her, soft boots against the old wood. 

“You’re going to be coy now? Really?”

Morgause fully turned towards him, lip curled. “I would not want to assume my jarl. I do not pretend to know your mind.”

Another long step, almost to her. She was not short in stature, but he managed to cover the shadow she cast upon the floor. He scoffed, but looked a bit sheepish. 

“I’m no boy-soldier. Do not play games with me.”

“It was not my intention, I promise you. I merely—well. You have much to contend with, and I do not think a personal whim would benefit your goals for Skyrim.”

“True enough. My goals take precedence, and your dedication to them is why you’re allowed to be here, in this wing of the castle.”

“Yes, of course,” she furrowed her brows, “I’m continuously pleased I’m able to assist in any way possible. That purpose I feel I’ve made clear.”

“...you have.” He was less than a foot away, looking down at her, that same look when they had met eyes crossing over his features again. “And yet I can’t help but wonder what else you want.”

She changed her stance as to not look up at him from her lashes like a lovesick maiden, but instead directly give him the full scope of her gaze in challenge. “Now who is playing coy? This is unlike you.”

Ulfric chuckled, though it did little to loosen the tension. He shifted, so close it was difficult to see his expression save for splotches of orange-yellow where the fire danced across his face. One hand, rough and calloused, lifted to her chin, drawing them closer before he murmured, “You know exactly what I want.”

Morgause smirked against his mouth. 

The warmth of his body was welcome, between the hearth and Ulfric, the chill was melting away from her. Her hand snaked up around his neck, pulling him down into the firm kiss he gave her, the other spreading over his shoulder to grasp at the fabric of his tunic. At first it seemed as though Ulfric wasn’t entirely certain what to do with his hands, although she knew he was far from inexperienced from some of the stories he shared with his war council when they assumed she was out of earshot. Perhaps he was still waiting for her to sink a knife into his throat. Morgause gently encouraged him instead, pressing her chest into his, feeling him shudder. She did not need to be as aggressive as his past lovers to control him.

Seemingly taking the bait, Ulfric finally let his hands fall to her hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of her nightgown before dragging his hands up her sides, the now bare skin of her legs warmed by the fire.

Whether or not she fully enjoyed the carnal interests of her targets was a matter of debate, but Morgause didn’t dislike all of it. It depended on the bed-warmer. So when Ulfric pulled his heavy hands over her bust as she tugged at his hair, it was simply too early to say whether he was proficient enough for her. 

Soon, he was pulling back, gasping for air from their kiss. Morgause allowed herself a heady expression, perfectly calculated. None too gently he moved her hands away to yank his tunic off, revealing a tree trunk of a body, scarred over in a testament to the battles he had fought. Beyond those still were deep reminders of the torture he had endured so long ago, present in the hook-marks and expertly cut grooves. She had only ever seen so much of his skin once when she accidentally walked in on a healer tending a wound on his back after a skirmish he had been a part of the night before. Ulfric looked grumpy then, being shortly after accepting her place in his council and not fully accustomed to her near constant presence.

Now, though, he only looked eager to get his pants off along with his tunic. 

Morgause grinned and looked him up and down appreciatively before meeting his eyes. “I know they’re painful reminders, but the scars only make you more handsome.”

He let out a huff as he unfastened his trousers, but stopped when he noticed her watching, hands roaming where he had left off on her body. His eyes followed the lines of her soft, unscarred hands as she felt up over her chest through the fabric, sighing appreciatively at her own touch. 

“Oh, don’t stop undressing,” she protested playfully, extending one of her hands to run down his bare chest, lightly dusted with hair and freckles. The other smoothed over one of her breasts,taut fabric teasing at what was underneath.

“It’s nothing to gawk at,” he gruffed out, “I’m hardly a young man.”

Morgause laughed softly, “Is that so terrible? Surely you’ve not missed my admiration.”

Ulfric shook his head, clearly growing tired of talking, but Morgause was not about to spend all this time for a quick fuck. Maybe down the line, the war room left so many things to the imagination, but her dedication to the possibility of this was going to be relished if she was to deem him a satisfactory investment. It did not stop him from reaching out to cup her other breast surprisingly gently. She was not the most endowed Nord in the Palace of Kings, not having their attractive, noticeable curves or musculature no matter the gender, but it was enough that when she leaned over at the war table in a low cut dress, eyes followed.

Morgause arched her back appreciatively as he kneaded his hand, her own fingers tracing the waist of Ulfric’s trousers before dipping beneath and appraising what she was working with. He wasn’t very hard, but he did admit to his lack of youth, and they had only just begun. Ulfric rumbled low in his chest as she began stroking him as best she could, undoing the rest of his laces to pull him out in full. He wouldn’t be the biggest man she had taken. There was a Justicar at the Thalmor Embassy—different from the woman who oversaw her work in Windhelm though whom Morgause found very attractive— she came across occasionally on her infrequent visits there that was substantially larger. It had been at least a year since she’d had the pleasure of his company, though, and hadn’t taken anything but fingers within her since. Visits to the Thalmor had to be infrequent and nondescript. 

In the meantime, though, as Ulfric slowly hardened and grew beneath her ministrations, she bit her lower lip in anticipation. He was thick, at least. 

Slowly she sunk to her knees, forcing him to let go of her as he watched. Morgause tugged down his pants to his knees and left feathery kisses along his hips, mirroring the soft touch of her fingers just above his half-erection. Ulfric near affectionately smoothed his fingers over her hair and he admired the way the fire gave her a golden, gossamer halo.The sensation made Morgause moan. Occasionally she peered up at him every few languid passes of her tongue. It had clearly been some time since someone had laid their mouth on him like this, but she considered it a triumph knowing he watched her on those days she wore more revealing dresses and likely palmed himself in private over it. He said it in his eyes when they passed each other in the hallways. 

The task was taken seriously though, there was something she enjoyed about watching the thin layer of sweat glisten on his body as she took him to the hilt or drug her nails into his thigh. She made the position on her knees not one of degradation, but of power. From here, she coaxed him to full mast without taking her clothes off. From here, she could control the intensity bestowed on him, and how loud that made him. Ulfric was covering his mouth with the back of his hand, groaning curses and trying not to squeeze his eyes shut in pleasure just to watch her. 

And just like one with power, she sucked along his shaft once more before stopping, using him as both support to stand and to keep touching him. Slowly, she kissed from the bottom of his sternum, over his heart, up to his shoulder and brushed her lips along his neck, intentionally marking his scars in reverence with her softness. Ulfric’s patience was waning, feeling the strength in which he grasped at her clothed rear, and hearing the desperation in the way he sucked at the pulse in her neck, scratching with his beard. He grunted when Morgause reached down and pumped him a few more times, though he was not any closer to finishing. 

“Let me in you.” He demanded gruffly, nose tracing the outer part of her ear. To her surprise, it sent a shiver through her, and a low chuckle vibrated through his chest. “Let me show you what you’ve done to me.”

Humming appreciatively, Morgause allowed herself a satisfactory grin and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, coaxing one of his thighs between her own to feel the heat there. 

“Please,” she cooed, honey sweet, “show me, Ulfric.”

He aggressively connected their lips this time, but not so much as to bruise her. Enough to make her sigh into it, appeasing a need she knew he had. It would be foolish to assume he would be a soft, tender lover. Perhaps in his youth, when both violence and romance were equally a part of him, but for all of the affection he privately held for Morgause, enough to end his celibacy and pursue her in the only way he could think of, gentleness need not be a part of it. She might not be a warrior, but she could hold her own. He’d be too old to appreciate her in this way, eventually. Or be dead.

Pulling away, Morgause watched, panting from their heated kiss, as Ulfric quickly discarded his boots and yanked down his trousers the rest of the way, kicking them somewhere on her floor. He gazed at her with a look akin to when he spoke of his passion for freedom and the righteousness he felt in his cause, and she realized then with a dark satisfaction that it was not just carnal reasons he sought after her. It was there before, certainly, but Morgause was truthful when she said she did not know his mind—not fully. 

Inferences and educated guesses based on past experience with him all washed to the side, the stormy grey of his eyes enveloping her as he heaved her into his arms. She admired his strength as he carried her, feeling the admiration the whole way down, not above the simplicity in finding attraction in that. 

Depositing her on the bed, the firelight reached enough that she could watch the warm light on his face while he looked her over, as if deciding to take the final step into the soft promise of her body. Encouraging him, Morgause went to roll over onto her stomach, linen shifting up her thigh, only to have him catch her behind the knee.

“No. Next time maybe,” a pause, waiting to see if she’d protest his suggestion, “but by the Gods, I want to watch you. Humor me.”

Morgause raised her brows but conceded, falling onto her back once more, wavy flaxen hair splaying across her pillow. It had been a notable amount of time since someone simply wanted to behold her, though she didn’t feel any particular way about it. If Ulfric was having a romanticized version of what this was for her in his head, she would allow it.

Ulfric leaned down onto the double bed as it creaked under the weight of him, and hitched his fingers under her gown to pull it up over her head in one fell swoop, tossing it bitterly to the side of the bed, as if cursing the thing. Morgause inhaled softly, arching her back as Ulfric’s fingertips rolled over one of her nipples as he rested one knee between her legs, close enough that if she squirmed, she felt the brush of his muscled thigh. The real test began now for her whether or not Ulfric was a man worth bedding as his rough hands toyed with her and pulled at her nipples, finding it gratifying the way he occasionally dragged his mouth away from kissing her or brushing her neck to drag his tongue across each of her pliant breasts. 

Morgause was aware of him at all times, knowing he would not take such a moment to do what she herself could, if deemed absolutely necessary. Ulfric did not know about the elven dagger in her nightstand, and frankly killing someone with her own hands disinterested her. Not because of a deep moral compass against murder, of course. Only that it failed to give her the rush Morgause sought after. Ulfric’s life could be in her hands in other ways, but he did not have to fear her knife in his gut. Still, she listened and felt and relaxed and gasped wantonly in ways that maintained Ulfric’s ministrations, going so far as to grind herself down on his thigh. Urged on by this, he slid his palm down her torso, over her abdomen, and teased the weight of his hand over the juncture where her thigh met her pelvis, two fingers suggestively tracing up next to where they ought to be. 

She let herself whine, quiet and purposeful, pleasantly surprised by a hulking warrior of a man with his hasty temperament to be capable of teasing. With the way he just barely kept himself from rolling his eyes at her occasional sharp tongue, there was the impression of lacking regard for drawing something out for the entertainment of it. Perhaps she should give him a bit more credit, but it was hardly other worldly. There was a Dunmer woman at the Grey Quarter’s sorry excuse for a corner club whom she occasionally saw that could work Morgause up so badly she fantasized about it every once in awhile. Her opinion was rising though, and when Ulfric dragged a finger from the bottom up, barely pressing into her only to continue upwards over her, she let herself fall back into the moment. 

Ulfric chose then to give her more, kissing her deeply again and thumbing over her bud below, teasing a finger into her slick. Morgause sighed around his tongue, content and surprised at the way his fingers vowed to offer more when he slipped another into her. When they parted, breathing heavily, she took the moment to peer down and watch him move into her with more purpose, lip quirking when her eyes caught view of him fully aroused. 

Feeling vindicated in her plot of potential seduction, Morgause let her legs fall fully open, trailing one of her hands gingerly up over the muscles of his back, admiring how they felt with each movement. His mouth fell back over her chest, but it was her turn to grow impatient, feeling the comfortable build of warmth at her core. The possibility of both their ends was temptation to her, not for wanting it to be over quickly, but for the implications of how it would connect them. 

“Ah-” She started at the feel of his fingers leaving her entirely, and Ulfric shifted his weight further down her bed. Pouting, Morgause propped herself up on her elbows, but he came back up to press a kiss to the side of her mouth. 

He did not reply, only moving to press both of his large hands on the back of her legs, pushing her bent knees towards her chest. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but she wasn’t very flexible, scooting down unconsciously to accommodate. The cold air seeping through the old stones brushed over her nether, but was replaced with heat as Ulfric, confident and smug, laid a long, weighty kiss there that she rewarded with a moan. Others would have commented on the taste of her, or told her something so salacious it would make sailors blush. He offered none of those, lapping only once more over her bloom, at first to her disappointment when he pulled back.

“Really?” she breathed out with a chuckle.

The alternative diminished her discontent as Ulfric let go of one of her legs, grunting as he bore his weight closer to her, cock in hand to trace over her entrance.

“I think you’ll like the alternative.”

With practiced movement Ulfric sunk into her, considerate of how her core invited him in but still giving her the chance to accommodate. Morgause unconsciously gripped at the sheets beneath her, exhaling as he pushed in. It was as expected, not the most difficult she had taken but she was grateful for the slow entry. For all his belligerence earlier, it was mindful of him to watch her face for the moment he could unleash all the tension building between them. Frankly, a part of her wished he would let go.

Such a wish did not go unanswered for long, and after a few deep breaths he dropped his weight onto the hand not holding her thigh, situated next to her shoulder, and started moving. 

Within minutes of finding their rhythm he was thrusting deep into her, and for each time he managed to angle it perfectly, Morgause gave him a needy moan with the slight throb of her cunt. At this rate, someone on the upper levels within the Palace of Kings would at least hear the creak of her bed, if not the vocalizations of their lovemaking. Ulfric was generous in the groans he made, watching her in fascination as she opened a side of her unseen to him. Her lashes fluttered each time her hips rolled down onto him, allowing the pleasurable sensations shooting through her to dictate her movements. Wet and messy between her thighs, Morgause acknowledged the build of heat but not quite fulfilled, her hand snaking between them and toying with herself. Ulfric, determined to prove some kind of point, brought the hand on her thigh down her stomach to where she pleasured herself, moving her aside and drawing circles against her clit with the pads of his fingers. She couldn’t help but laugh into her moans at the thought of Ulfric Stormcloak, brutal rebellion hero who fought on her even being a part of his innermost circle, after all these years managing to impress her enough to draw out her bliss this way. 

As their movements became more desperate, Ulfric leaned his weight further against her, and she welcomed him with arms around his shoulders. Between his forceful thrusts, Morgause buried her face into the crook of his neck, squeezing her eyes shut with the idle thought of _oh, I might actually come._

The pulsing inside of her cued Ulfric to her state, hearing her mewls strain with the swell of her clit. It hit her all at once, whine caught in her throat and arching her back, breasts brushing against him. His own release was finally upon him, feeling the way he became more erratic but managing to keep a quick pace. Dipping not fully in a few times before slamming the whole way into her pussy while just maintaining the movements on her bud had her clinging to him for support and gritting her teeth at the oversensitivity sparking the last few pulses of her climax. Ulfric let out a loud growl that echoed through the room, shoving into her hard, stilled in his other movements as he just barely rocked his hips to ride out his orgasm. 

He held her there, breathing ragged along with hers, and kissed her temple as he pulled away to slide out of her, eyes lingering there for a moment. Ulfric looked as though he wanted to ask her something, but presumably thinking better of it and rolling over to lay beside her. Her legs fell back down at the loss of him holding her there.

She could guess his concerns, but then that’s what the vial tucked beneath her smalls in the dresser drawer was for. 

If the intimacy he craved from her grew into more, Morgause would become accustomed to opening herself in a false act of raw passion. Already as he caught his breath beside her Ulfric lazily gazed her way, eyes roaming from her face, down her bare chest and further, back up to watch her face. When he met her eyes, she forced a grin, sluggish and ready for a full night’s rest.

“I won’t mind making this a regular occurrence.” She said decisively, rolling onto her side to face him. To him it sounded as though a passive, after-sex statement. To her it was approval. 

Ulfric made a noncommittal noise, seemingly mulling over something in his head. Morgause watched him, as if trying to push past the wall of his mind and see into those thoughts he kept to himself. She would never pry unexpectedly, though. Only if she gambled with a high chance of it being a success. Now, he merely seemed to be as tired as she was and not quite ready to share. Instead of words, he did pull her closer, coaxing her to lay her head on his chest to which she obliged, pulling the heavy furs that had gotten shoved to the bottom of the bed over them with a content sigh. 

As she was beginning to doze, thinking of how to proceed tomorrow based on how he could potentially react, Ulfric broke the silence, voice husky from their exertions. 

“Didn’t wait this long to only have it happen once.”  


Morgause snickered playfully, running her hand across his chest. “Neither did I.”


End file.
